In the Shadows of Moonlight
by Ai Tennshi
Summary: Adults may carefully hide their wrongs, but children are very perceptive—even if they do not realize what they are perceiving.


_Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable from Ashita no Nadja._

_Author's Note: This is the sequel to In the Shadows of Sunlight, but can be read independently.  
_

Nadja Harcourt never so much as glanced at the family photograph that had been enlarged, framed, and hung over the grand staircase in the ballroom of Harcourt Manor. If anyone ever noticed, they never said so. In all probability, however, Nadja figured that they never noticed. There were more important issues at hand, after all.

Such as the fact that she never interacted with all her children at once. The children ranged between ages three and seven when people began to realize that Nadja seemed to make a point of treating her eldest differently from all the others. Her husband, housekeeper and mother all spoke to her on the subject, insisting that it was not healthy. Yet she only ever declared that Henry was her husband's heir, and as such required different treatment. It was a very understandable logic. However, the logic seemed to conflict with her treatment of the children, for she was stricter with her younger children than with her eldest. Her eldest son she practically spoiled with affection; as soon as her younger sons and daughter were old enough to speak, she began to teach them that they must be strong and resilient.

"What need is there for them to be resilient?" Francis had protested when he had first heard one of Nadja's lectures to their daughters. "They are Harcourts. Henry shan't abandon them. Elizabeth shall be wed to whomsoever she wishes for a husband, the boys shall find work which they enjoy, and Henry shall ensure that they are happy with their lots in life. He adores them all, especially Elizabeth." Indeed, Henry doted over his youngest sister as though determined to be her guardian angel.

"That's not enough," Nadja had replied, averting her eyes from her husband. "You never know what may happen."

Francis had looked at her for a few long moments, and then turned away without a word. He had never again protested, but in turn ensured that Henry learned of thoughtfulness and responsibility, and devoted himself to his younger children. He knew that Nadja was not being entirely honest about her reasons for doing what she did; this did not, however, mean that he had the right to interfere with her beliefs.

It was one night in mid-December of the year that Elizabeth turned six that Francis was walking through the hallways making his way to bed when he saw a faint light in the ballroom. He looked in from the top of the left side of the grand staircase. To his surprise, Nadja stood there with an oil lamp, looking up at the photograph with tears running down her cheeks. Francis looked at the photograph for the cause of her sorrow, but could not find it. It was a happy photograph, from the days before Nadja had begun to treat their children strangely—or perhaps just before he had noticed. It had been taken two weeks after Elizabeth's birth.

Francis beheld himself, standing straight and tall as befit Duke Harcourt, his right arm around Henry's shoulders as the boy attempted to imitate his father; he followed his left arm down to the hand resting upon the back of a chair in which Nadja sat, a small smile on her face, with Elizabeth cradled in her lap and William and John sitting on the floor on either side of her legs—mirroring each other as the photographer insisted ideal for identical twins—as though clinging to their mother's legs.

As Francis wondered what Nadja saw in the photograph that made her cry, he began to see things himself. He had always seen Nadja's smile when he looked at that photograph. Yet her eyes seemed sad—no, she had only given birth to Elizabeth a few weeks before the photograph, so it could have been exhaustion. William and John's body language showed their preference for their mother; yet had Nadja not always treated them more strictly and harshly than their elder brother? No, that had been before they were old enough to recognize their mother's unfairness.

Francis remembered the days when he had just wed Nadja, when it seemed that he could do anything as long as Nadja remained by his side. Where had those days—those _feelings_—gone? He had not even realized that they were gone until now, but upon thinking back, he realized that there had never been that closeness between him and his wife since...well, perhaps around the time when William and John had been born. Or perhaps before that—he could no longer quite recall.

He stood in the dim light, watching over his wife until she finally turned and went to bed.

The next day, Keith came calling. As Francis was caught up in his duties comprised of reading and signing papers, Nadja went out to greet his brother. She and Keith were sipping tea and making smalltalk when Francis finally decided to break from his paperwork and enter the parlor. The pair smiled and greeted him with almost identical expressions, and opened the conversation to him invitingly. Still, the conversation dwindled and died after a few minutes, and Nadja broke the silence by suggesting that Keith visit the children.

Nadja remained in the parlor with Francis until he finished his tea, and they headed together to the play room where Keith was playing with William, John and Elizabeth and making a valiant effort to include Henry. Yet again, Francis was forced to admit to another segregation between his children in the same pattern: the younger lot adored Keith, even loved him—almost more than they loved him, Francis sometimes feared, though he knew it wasn't true—while Henry seemed to sense something distasteful about his uncle.

Francis sometimes wondered if Nadja was right—perhaps this crack in their family one day would become a crevice so wide and deep that Henry would feel no familial obligation to his siblings at all. But Francis shook the idea from his mind. Absurd! He was raising his children to be more intelligent than that.

He excused himself and returned to his paperwork.

That night, out of sheer curiosity, Francis chose to sneak by the ballroom again. Again, Nadja was gazing up at the photograph. Only, this time she wasn't crying. Her eyes were smiling tiredly, and Francis realized with a jolt that her eyes rarely smiled anymore. Was she so stifled in the life of the wife of a duke?

He leaned forward to get a better look, and saw that the thing behind Nadja was not a shadow, but his brother. Keith stood with his eyes fixed on the photograph and his hands on the shoulders of Francis' wife. There was nothing remotely suggestive or immoral about it, yet Francis felt a jolt of possessiveness streak through him with surprising ferocity. He shook his head to clear it, and noticed that Keith's lips were moving. He was saying something to Nadja in a voice so low that Francis could hear nothing—and it was making Nadja smile.

Francis stood rooted to the spot until Nadja smiled fully and turned around, and after exchanging a few more words which Francis understood to be empty 'thank you's and 'good night's, Keith turned and returned across the ballroom towards his own room. Francis ducked out of sight before Nadja began ascending the staircase towards the master bedroom. By the time Nadja came to bed mere minutes later, Francis had already dived into bed and was feigning sleep sleep.

Even after he heard Nadja's breath steady to the long and slow inhales and exhales of a deep sleep, Francis could not fall asleep.

In the moment that Nadja had turned to face Keith and Keith's hands had fallen from her shoulders, Francis had comprehended everything.


End file.
